


Falling from Perdition

by QueenOfDestielLand



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Cute Jack Kline, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Demon Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Good Parent Mary Winchester, Grief/Mourning, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hunter Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Mpreg, Nephil Jack Kline, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Parental Bobby Singer, Parents Castiel & Dean Winchester, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDestielLand/pseuds/QueenOfDestielLand
Summary: In trying to save his brother, Dean Winchester couldn't save himself. As a hunter, he always knew that he would die at the hands of some big bad. He just didn't know that he would become one of them.Castiel is an outcast, shunned by his former angelic brethren and living the nomadic life of a hunter with his adopted son, Jack. Life wasn't easy for them, but they managed as best as they could.Until they meet the demon with the green eyes, that is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I intend for this story to be my longest ever. Being that I am going to college for my Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing, I want to push myself and create something that I hope you will all enjoy. Please leave reviews and POSITIVE criticisms, because they will help me on my journey. Thank you!

The werewolf hunt had gone much smoother than Castiel expected it would.

Based on online reports that he had researched, and all of the witnesses he spoke to, he thought there was only one or two operating in Sioux Falls, North Dakota. Unfortunately, when he had entered the abandoned barn at the edge of Palm Drive later that night, he discovered that it was actually an entire pack of them - ten in total. He ended up having to pray to his son Jack for help, as much as he didn't want to do that.

Jack was an extremely powerful Nephilim, but Castiel still wanted to keep him as far from danger as possible.

With a raise of his hand, Jack had decimated the nest in seconds. Castiel had only suffered a few minor scrapes here and there after he was thrown against a dilapidated wall by a big burly red-haired guy named Mike, according to the mechanics overalls he wore. Castiel had managed to take out at least three of the angry mob by the time Jack appeared in the middle of the room, wearing his favorite Scooby-Doo pajamas and holding a shark bowl full of Lucky Charms cereal. It was an amusing sight to see since, for the briefest of moments, the werewolves all paused their assault to stare quizzically at the twenty-something kid who looked so out of place amidst the carnage. 

On the drive back to the motel, Castiel fought with himself over his choice to involve Jack at all while his son happily continued eating his cereal and talking about their trip to a museum earlier. 

_Why did I have to summon Jack? I should have been able to handle it myself! I am utterly useless..._

He rarely called upon Jack unless it was an extreme situation, but even then he had to nearly get his head ripped off before he relented and sent a prayer to his son. He wanted to be better than he was, to be able to take on whoever crossed his path. He had heard about some hunters who used to do just that, named the Winchesters. Their names were legendary in hunter and angel circles alike for being the best. They have survived everything, including death itself. They must have had an angel watching over them to be so lucky. 

He _had_ to become a better hunter. Not just for his sake, but for Jack's as well. He didn't want the boy to end up as an orphan again. He couldn't do that to Kelly. He couldn't be a _complete_ failure. 

Now the two of them were back at the latest seedy hotel they had rented for the night, with Jack watching some show about a portal jumping grandfather/grandson duo while Castiel took a lukewarm shower to get the blood and grime off his skin. He just stood under the water for a few minutes, feeling his bones ache and longing for a time when he too could have waved a hand and fixed things just as easily as jack did earlier. He had relied on his angelic grace for far too long, and in some ways doing so had made him a weaker hand to hand fighter. 

He sighed, frustrated with himself that he kept dwelling on the past. This wasn't a circumstance that he could change. He had literally _fallen_. His wings were gone, his grace was empty, and all he had left was Jack and the job. No one was coming to save him and make it all better - not that he needed saving, of course. He was raising an orphaned Nephilim and saving humans from monsters. It was far past time to accept that.

At least he was making some sort of difference in the world. Maybe not in the way that he used to, but still...

Castiel turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, the cold air from a nearby broken window dancing across his bare wet flesh. He shivered, quickly grabbing the nearest towel - that felt like sandpaper, no less - and drying himself off. He paused as he caught a glimpse of himself in the dirty, cracked mirror. No longer was there a fierce warrior of Heaven staring confidently back at him through the reflection, but a worn-down hunter who had seen too much and pushed his body to the limit every day. Scars were strewn across his body like macabre artwork, a road map of his life since his fall. At one time, the skin had been toned, smooth. Not a blemish in sight.

Now, it looked almost broken, a collage of mistakes that nearly got him killed a hundred times over. 

He slowly walked into the motel room, exhaustion setting in as he draped the wet towel across the desk chair. He tied the string to the blue sweat pants that he had put on in the bathroom and slid into his bed, closing his eyes for a moment and just enjoying the brief peace. 

Jack broke the silence a few minutes later, after turning off his show once it had ended.

"Dad, are you okay?"

Castiel nodded, pulling the blankets up a bit. Of course, they were just as rough as the towel had been, but he didn't expect much from a cheap motel. Maybe one day he would splurge and get a hotel with actual working plumbing. "I'm fine, Jack. Just a bit tired."

He could hear the boy get up from his own bed and softly pad over. "Do you want me to heal you? You look like you got hurt." 

"No, save your energy. You used a lot of your power today."

"I know Dad, but I -"

Castiel opened his eyes a little. Jack stood above him, an all too familiar worried look on his face. It was a look he had seen several times before when he had returned from a hunt a little worse for wear. Sometimes he forgot that he could no longer magically heal wounds himself and that he wasn't immortal anymore. He _had_ to be more careful. 

"Jack, please. It's my job to take care of you, not the other way around."

"I like helping you," Jack said. "I like being useful."

"You _are_ useful," Castiel assured him, offering a smile. "You make this life easier to handle. I don't know what I'd do if I was completely on my own here."

"You'll never be alone," Jack replied with a grin. "You're stuck with me, Dad."

Castiel laughed, leaning up to give his son a hug. The younger man wrapped his arms around Castiel, squeezing tight. Despite how terrible things seemed sometimes, having jack in his life was the one shining light that he could depend on. 

"Get some sleep. We need to head out around noon tomorrow."

Jack released him, walking back over to his bed and sliding under the covers. "Where are we going to next? And can we get pancakes first?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe we can take a break at the cabin for a while and get some rest."

"And the pancakes?"

"Yes, yes. You can have pancakes tomorrow. We will go to the diner we passed on the way into town."

"Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, Jack."

The hunter's life may not have been Heaven, but sometimes it could sure feel like it.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't know why he kept torturing himself like this. Maybe in some sick, twisted way, he felt like he deserved it after everything that he had done.

For the past three years, he had tried to pull himself away from this place, so that the people inside could move on - something  _he_ should have been doing a long time ago. Yet here he stood, lurking outside like some creeper, leaning against the old oak tree with the height measurements from a childhood long past; watching the people he loved more than anything else in the world have family chili night. He didn't know whether to be sad or proud that they had kept up the tradition all this time even after he was gone. Maybe it was what they needed to do so that they could make it through the week now. Some semblance of normalcy, a small way to pretend as if things were still normal and that he wasn't... _what he was_. 

He didn't think any of them would ever be able to be normal again. 

The icy wind lapped against his skin, but he didn't feel it. Not anymore. Now it was just a mere breeze, devoid of temperature and just as empty as he felt inside. It was odd to miss being too cold, or too hot. To feel the sweat running down his brow after making love to yet another random conquest in a crappy bar in Iowa or Wisconson or wherever. To feel the salt air hit his cheeks while he and Sam would have a cold beer and sit on the roof of the Impala after a long hunt. To feel _anything_ at all.

He had once told his brother that he wished he couldn't feel a damn thing. He supposed in a fucked up kind of way, he had finally gotten that wish.

Laughter spilled out into the chilled winter air, and he turned away from the house, unable to see the happy look on their faces as they ate warm chili and cornbread, Bobby's favorite recipe most likely. His green eyes landed on the Impala that sat in the open garage, the dark grey tarp only halfway covering it. He could see the metallic, ebony body poking out from underneath it, dust covering the frame and spiderwebs dotted with ice spread across the tires. No one had driven her for years, that much was obvious. He wished that maybe Sam would have taken the Impala so that it wasn't just sitting here, but he knew that his brother couldn't bring himself to do it. Family chili nights were one thing - Dean Winchester's favorite possession was another.

He had no need for a car anymore, though he missed the simplicity of getting in the driver's seat and just cruising down the highway. He had spent so many days spent listening to the same old cassette tapes, with Sam by his side and a new case looming ahead of them. He knew what to do back then. He had been trained for it. Get in there, do the job, save the girl. Rinse, repeat. Get in the car again. That he could handle.

Not _this_. Facing an eternity of damnation was never part of the plan for him. Being forced to watch his loved ones grow old and die while time just continued to pass? And then, being completely alone in the world with not a friend in sight? That was the worst kind of torture imaginable. He supposed that was the reason for it, after all. That's why he was still lurking outside this house, unable to let go of what he once had. The hunter's life was full of pain and grief, but at least he had them. At least he had his family. 

Now, he just had the other demons. 

They all hated him, of course. A former hunter who killed most of their friends - who had thrown all of Hell into disarray. No king was sitting on the throne. No one was in charge anymore. He felt a little proud of that one. A few higher level demons had tried to rise through the ranks since then, but he just killed them too. Just because he was one of them now didn't mean that he was just going to let them take over. 

He did miss Crowley, though. That smarmy bastard was decent in the end.

After taking one last look through the window, he closed his eyes, picturing a hole-in-the-wall diner on the edge of town. He appeared just outside of it a moment later, sliding a baseball cap on top of his head and walking inside. 

_Thank you, **Demon Airways**._

It was always risky hanging out in Sioux Falls for too long. Most of the people who lived there had done so all their lives, and he was pretty well known around the area. Luckily, no one seemed to notice him, since he stayed out of the public eye as much as possible. He would just grab a quick bite and then go somewhere else for a while. Maybe the Bahamas, where he didn't have to worry about hiding his identity or running into people he knew.

He took a seat in the back of the small diner, the red plastic squeaking as he slid into the booth. Snow was lightly starting to fall outside, reminding him that Christmas was going to be there fairly soon. He glanced at the calendar on the wall. November 15th. His family would be having Thanksgiving next week. They would pass around the turkey - expertly carved by Bobby, of course - and take turns saying what they were thankful for. He always felt the tradition was a bit too cheesy for his taste, but he had come to miss that too in the past few years. 

He was thankful that his brother was still alive to even have a Thanksgiving, at least.

"Hey, Sugar. What'll you have?" 

He glanced up at the curvy, redheaded waitress that stood next to the table, a notepad in her hand and a bored expression on her face. She was in her late 40s, and shimmery shades of silver were just starting to appear at her temples. His eyes flickered to her name tag. "Hey there, Darla. Can I get a cheeseburger and fries, with a chocolate milkshake?"

She wrote his order down and then held out her hand to take his menu, which he hadn't used. He never changed his order. Maybe he was too predictable that way. He politely handed it to her and she took it, slipping it under her arm and walking away without another word. That was fine with him - he was in no mood to talk.

He slowly scanned the diner, curious about the other patrons. It was mostly older couples, wearing their matching snow jackets and nursing hot cups of cocoa or coffee. There was a teenage girl at the counter, who looked to be about 6 months pregnant, quietly crying and eating an overcooked piece of toast. It was probably bought with the last few dimes she had and she didn't want to waste the food. The old Dean Winchester would have paid for her meal. 

And then, he saw Castiel. The strange hunter with one name, like Madonna.

The blue-eyed man had appeared about three years ago. Word spread in the demon community about him, because Castiel started carving his way up the western seaboard, killing any unfortunate supernatural creature that got in his way. Someone doesn't do that without someone else important taking notice. A lot of demons had thought that Castiel might have been an angel, considering that some of the bodies that he left were turned to ash. Upon closer inspection though, they learned that he was just a mere human, with nothing really remarkable about him at all. 

Castiel had a boy with him, about 20-years-old or so. He was happily shoveling pancakes in his face that he had covered with almost the entire bottle of syrup. Dean wondered if maybe this was Castiel's son, as the two of them looked strikingly similar. It wasn't that unusual for a hunter to take his young son in trips - John had done that with Sam and Dean their whole lives. But the boy with Castiel just looked too damn innocent to be able to kill anything. Dean wondered what the story was there. Did Castiel knock up some unfortunate woman and then get her killed? 

"Here's your shake."

He looked away for a moment to regard the waitress who had plopped down the glass in front of him, sloshing some of the milkshake over the sides and causing it to spill on the table. She didn't seem apologetic as she shrugged and walked away again as if her carelessness didn't matter in the slightest. Anger flared up inside him and he could feel his eyes flipping from green to black. One unfortunate side effect of being a demon was the uncontrollable rage that always burned just beneath the surface. 

He clenched his fists, feeling his short nails digging into his palms. 

_Who the **fuck** does she think she is?_

He took a calming breath, trying to will his eyes to change back, to forget about the sloppy waitress and her disregard for his drink. It was no big deal. He would just clean it up and everything would be perfectly fine. He wiped down the glass with a napkin and took a sip of it. Naturally, it tasted like chalk.

Dean sighed and glanced back over to Castiel - who was staring right back at him from across the diner. 


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel would have recognized Dean Winchester anywhere. 

Long before the two brothers became infamous,  the Winchesters had made a name for themselves among his former brethren. The Righteous Man and the Boy with the Demon Blood. Destined to be Heaven's playthings. Created to lead the world into destruction by being the vessels of Lucifer and Michael. But they had averted that catastrophe somehow, just as they always did. Throwing out the script and making their own path in life.

A real 'Team Free Will.'

Castiel himself had never personally met Sam or Dean face to face before, but he was well aware of what the men each  looked like and how much the two warring factions had hated them. The angels had actually put up targets with the brothers' faces on them that they angrily threw darts at and bonded over just how much of a pain in the ass those two humans had been.

Dean had allegedly died three years ago after the latest battle between Heaven and Hell... so the question was how he was now sitting there in the back of the diner, staring right back at him? He was almost afraid to know the answer.

He didn't know too many details about the battle, except that Lucifer, Michael, several angels and demons, and Dean Winchester didn't make it. That was the day that Jack had come into the world, born from a human woman named Kelly Kline - who had unknowingly procreated with the Devil himself.

Choosing to save Jack and raise him as his own - instead of killing him on Heaven's orders - was the reason that Castiel was thrown out of Paradise, his black-blue wings burning to charred ash as he fell to the Earth. He had no regrets about his decision that day because he now had a son who he loved more than his own life. 

His eyes flickered over to Jack, who was still eating his pancakes without a care in the world. He didn't want to shatter the blissful moment for him, but Castiel had to find out why Dean was still alive. Had he simply faked his death, or had he been kidnapped? If the man was in trouble, then maybe he could help him somehow, one hunter to another.

Or was it something worse...

Castiel had to remain calm so that Dean didn't get suspicious and potentially bolt out the door before he could do anything. The other man couldn't possibly know that he was a hunter, so Castiel had that to his advantage in case Dean was indeed a flight risk. 

"Jack?"

His son looked up in curiosity, syrup dripping down his chin and onto his plate. "Hmm?"

Castiel leaned in close, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Can you look at the man at the very back of the diner, the one with the with the baseball cap? Tell me if you can see anything unusual about him. And try not to be too obvious," he added. 

Castiel didn't know much about social norms, but staring at someone was considered rude, from what he had come to understand in the past few years.

Jack looked behind him, being  _completely_ obvious of course. Castiel simply facepalmed. Sometimes he didn't know which one of them was worse.

"Demon."

Castiel was instantly on alert and began looking around the room, one hand on the angel blade under his trench coat. "Where?" he asked, hoping beyond hope that the demon in question wasn't Dean.

But nothing was ever that simple. 

"The man in the baseball cap."

It was just as he feared. Dean Winchester was now one of the things that he used to hunt. Castiel wondered how it had happened. Was his body just being _possessed_ by a demon and his actual soul was in Heaven where it belonged? He couldn't imagine that his brothers and sisters would be to happy with that development. 

He wanted to know the answer to that, but he doubted Dean - or the demon who was hitching a ride - would be so forthcoming. Not that it really mattered anyway at this point. if Dean was truly a demon now, it was Castiel's duty to kill him.

"Do you want me to get him before he leaves, Dad?" 

"No, I -"

It was then, as he watched Dean's gaze turn from him to Jack with sudden predator-like interest, that another disturbing and terrifying realization entered Castiel's mind. He was reaching for his son's hand and flying out the door before he even realized it, the angry red-haired waitress screaming after them about not paying the bill, as he fumbled for his keys with sweaty, shaky palms.

It wasn't his most stealthy exit, and there was no way that Dean hadn't seen it. 

Within minutes, they were back on the road in Castiel's gold Lincoln Continental, the diner growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and his heart was pounding erratically in his chest. For the second time in 24 hours, he had put Jack at risk. He was a terrible father. Sometimes, for the briefest of moments, he found himself wondering if Jack might have been better off with Lucifer. At least he could protect him much better than Castiel ever could, especially if Dean did decide to go after them. He probably wouldn't be making such ridiculous mistakes, either.

"What happened, Dad?" Jack asked finally. "Why didn't we go after the demon?"

Castiel glanced in the rearview mirror as if he was expecting to see Dean running behind them at full speed somehow.. "I was worried that he would be able to see what you are." 

"Why does it matter? We've taken out more than one demon before."

"Because demons would do anything to get their hands on a Nephilim."

Part of the reason the Nephilim were eradicated years ago was that they were so unpredictable and easily swayed towards darkness. Castiel had worked hard to make sure that Jack stayed on the side of good. Heaven and the angels assumed that just because Jack's father was Lucifer, that he would automatically become evil - so naturally they had wanted him dead before he was even born. Castiel had strived to prove them wrong. So far, they had left him alone with his choice to raise the 'abomination' instead of killing him. Hell wasn't as accommodating, though, and sometimes they had to run away instead of staying and fighting.

"Why would demons want me?"

"Because you can be used as a weapon, Jack!" Castiel shouted, much louder than he expected, his fist coming down hard on the steering wheel. He instantly felt terrible for lashing out at him. Jack wasn't to blame for any of this.

Jack flinched and shrank back in his seat, saying nothing more. Wonderful. Castiel truly was winning Father of the Year. 

"I am sorry for yelling. I am just... worried that Dean might tell someone else about your existence, and then you will be in danger."

Jack nodded, looking out the window. "I understand."

They rode in silence for a few minutes, and Castiel's heartbeat slowly returned to normal. They had left town much later than they intended to, as it had taken hours for Castiel to fall asleep due to his injuries last night. He had been hurt worse than he thought he had, and the agony in his back was almost unbearable, even with pain meds.

Jack had let him sleep long past the noon deadline, which he appreciated immensely but it had put them behind schedule. Now it was 6 p.m. and the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains spilling hues of pinks and purples across the sky. Maybe it was time to check into another motel soon and try to rest some more. He didn't know if he would be able to drive all night with the way he was feeling. 

They would just have to wait until tomorrow to get to the cabin. They would be safe there. 

Two hours later, they found a motel off the beaten path called 'Carlo's Cheapo Motelo'. It wasn't the best looking place around, but Castiel felt like they had put a decent amount of distance between Sioux Falls and himself for now. He parked the car and went inside the office to check in, glancing around as he walked to make sure they hadn't been followed. 

They ordered pizza, since neither of them had gotten the chance to finish their food earlier. The two of them watched _Jeopardy_  while they ate, answering what questions they knew and learning what they didn't. For the briefest of moments, their life felt normal. That was what Castiel wanted for Jack. 

When his son fell asleep, he decided to go outside for a breather. He hated feeling so on edge, waiting for the next attack to come. He still wasn't entirely sure if Dean had even followed them,  or worse - told his demon friends about Jack. 

Either way, Dean Winchester was now a liability that had to be taken care of.

"Heya, Cas."

And there he was, leaning against Castiel's car with a smirk on his face and a knife in his hand. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know as a Castiel fan myself, that some of you might feel slighted by choosing not to make him a huge part of averting the Apocalypse. I am simply making this story canon divergent to fit the plot. A lot of things will remain the same, but trust me - Castiel is a hero in his own right.


	4. Chapter 4

The blue-eyed hunter was terrified. Dean could see that clear as day. 

He had to admire the fact that regardless of that fear, Castiel wasn't running away like he did before. Instead, he chose to stand his ground, his hand slowly inching towards the inside of his coat - most likely for some weapon he had hidden there in the hopes to make this an even playing field. The demon couldn't help but smirk at that. Castiel had to know that Dean could stop him at any time - not to mention that any weapon he came up with would be useless against him.

Except one in particular, of course.

He wondered what could possibly be hidden inside that mysterious khaki trench. A gun? A knife? Pepper spray? Trump bobblehead doll? He was almost giddy with anticipation about what was going to happen next. After the somber afternoon he had creeping outside his family's house, he needed something exciting and fun in his life.

Was that too much to ask?

"What do you want?" Castiel demanded, rather abrasively. He had a deeper voice than Dean expected, but he kind of liked it all the same.

"Now, is that any way to greet a guest?" Dean replied, pretending to clean his nails with the large knife he had brought. It was his favorite one, because he had taken it off the body of a guy named Cole who had hunted him for over a year. It was almost admirable the dedication that Cole had to find him and 'bring him to justice' for killing his father. 

"A guest?" Castiel repeated, his head tilting in confusion. 

If Dean wasn't here to kill him, he might have found that adorable. 

"That's what I said. You and the kid left the diner in such a big hurry that I didn't even get a chance to introduce myself." Dean grinned at him. "Totally rude, man."

Castiel glanced nervously towards the motel room he had just stepped out of. He clearly felt protective towards the little abomination that was sleeping inside. Maybe it _was_ his son, after all. 

Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

"Yeah. I know all about your son," Dean said, nonchalantly. "And what he is. Nephilim, right?" He winked at that last part, wanting to make Castiel squirm a little.

He was actually surprised when the hunter suddenly launched himself at Dean, an angel blade seemingly appearing out of nowhere and now pressing roughly against his throat. He was so taken aback that for the briefest of moments, all he could do was stand there in bewilderment.

"Look into my eyes when I say this, Dean Winchester. I want you to see how utterly serious I am."

He looked into Castiel's eyes at the command, more curious than anything, and found himself staring into two dark blue depths of pure, passionate, barely contained rage. It was the kind of fury that he had only ever seen in the face of a supernatural being who had the kind of power to back it up. In that moment, it was as if Castiel had managed to channel it somehow for that very purpose. It was odd, since as far as he could tell, the other man was purely human.

"If you _ever_ lay a hand on him, I will burn you to the ground and lay waste to all your demon brethren," Castiel snarled, his words fire and brimstone. "I will make you _all_ extinct. Hell will never forget my name for all the destruction I will cause. Do you understand me?"

The funny thing was, the demon actually believed that Castiel would do it. Even worse, he was also kind of turned on by it. Down, boy.

He _liked_ this hunter. That was problematic. Regardless, there was no way he was going to let himself be manhandled by some guy who looked like a tax accountant - without being bought dinner first anyway

Dean casually waved his hand and Castiel was thrown backwards into a truck that was a few feet away. 

"Take it down a notch, Buffy," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest while the hunter laid on the ground groaning and holding his side. "Who said anything about hurting him?"

"What was the point of the idle threat earlier then?" Castiel asked, slowly getting back to his feet with a grimace.

"It was more of a statement of fact, really. 'I know your little secret and now you're gonna do something for me.' Get it?" Dean said, complete with air quotes.

He leaned back against the car, considering the situation carefully.

He had to be smart about this. If he killed Castiel, then he'd have the nephilim to contend with - and frankly the odds were not in his favor. The kid would end up coming after him for killing his father, and Dean would spend the next hundred years or whatever looking over his shoulder. 

He had no idea how long Nephilim lived for, but hopefully it _wasn't_ for a damn eternity.

No, Castiel's son was going to be useful to him. He finally had a way to help his family and he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. Even if it meant letting this hunter live. Besides, maybe having a hunter and a half angel kid as allies wasn't the worst thing in the world. 

"Why am I not surprised?" Castiel said, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "You demons are all the same."

Dean glared at him. "I am _nothing_ like them!" He really wished that were true, but he had just murdered a man in cold blood yesterday. 

He was _everything_ like them. 

The hunter tilted his head again. "I suppose that is true. Had you been someone else, I would have been dead by now."

Dean glanced away. "Why? Because of who I _used_ to be?"

 _That_ Dean Winchester was buried in the empty grave in the woods beyond Bobby's house - marked with a cross that Sam had painstakingly carved himself between hangovers and random bouts of anger and depression.

"I do not know what you are -"

"Cut the crap, Castiel. I could tell you recognized me earlier. I don't know how, but you did." 

The other man nodded. "You are the best hunter in the world."

Dean actually felt flattered at that. "Best hunter, huh? You want me to sign your t-shirt, too?"

"It is just what I have heard," Castiel replied, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Yeah well... Don't believe everything you hear." 

He had no idea what was being said in hunter's circles about him anymore. Sam had most likely told them that Dean had sacrificed himself to save him, not knowing the full details of that day. His whole family thought he was dead and gone.

"What do you want?" Castiel asked, for the second time that night. His tone sounded a bit softer than it did earlier. 

"I want your son to save someone's life."


End file.
